Fiona x Axeman
by elsamoons
Summary: This is a one-shot fic about Fiona and The Axeman which is basically supposed to be a "deleted scene" from Episode 11 of Coven. I wrote it so that it would fit in with the show, and be true to the characters as they were originally presented to us.


Fiona rose from the table, light-headed and flushed with the thrill of annihilating the witch hunters earlier that afternoon. Well, it was a mixture of that, plus a little of the champagne she had just shared with Marie in celebration.

"Where you goin'?," Marie asked.

Fiona motioned restlessly for Delphine to help her into her fur.

"My man swung a mighty axe, I have to go reward him," she replied coyly. This incited them both to a hearty laugh, and she continued, "Don't wait up!"

With a salute of her hand in Marie's direction, she sauntered out the door.

Her black Jimmy Choos created a steady click-clack rhythm along the sidewalk as she made her way toward the taxi waiting behind the wrought-iron gate. Her eyes followed the gate's ornate spires all the way up to where they punctured the dark sky; they continued rising until her gaze met with the moon, which was almost full. Her heart leapt for a brief moment—it reminded her of the night Delia was born. But before she had a chance to recall the memory, she drew a sharp breath and shook it out of her head. She reached into her purse to dig for the pill bottle buried at the bottom. It was nearly empty.

On the ride to the Axeman's apartment, her mind ran through all the events of the day. She felt invigorated after such a glorious triumph over the witch hunters—the plan had gone off without a hitch—and it was more satisfying than even she had imagined. But the guilt over Delia's unexpected act of self-mutilation still gnawed at her. It picked and prodded at that empty place within her that always found a way to remind her it existed, and that it couldn't be filled—no matter the amount of magic, or pills, or whiskey.

She lit a cigarette and the driver began to reprimand her, but she quickly enchanted him to bend to her will. The effort was more than she expected for such a simple task, and the familiar rush of fear over her impending doom flooded through her body like a tidal wave. She swallowed another pill, which slid harshly down her dry throat.

She was looking forward to seeing the Axeman, if only for the distraction it would provide. A cozy kind of warmth overcame her as she thought of him, and she smiled to herself in the darkness of the cab. She started to get lost in that feeling she experienced when she was with him, the one that could make her forget everything wretched about her miserable existence. But she was quickly jolted back to reality when the taxi came to a stop in front of his apartment.

As she climbed the dim stairwell, she could hear the sound of his saxophone floating down from his room. He hadn't stopped playing it since this whole tryst began—well, except for when he was playing _her_ instead. She reveled in knowing that she still had power over something, even if it was only just a man (which, up until recently, she had always found the easiest thing to conquer).

When she reached his room, she stopped in front of the door so she could listen to his song. She didn't want to admit it, but it sent her heart aflutter to hear him play his axe. She smiled to herself, then took a deep breath before she pushed open the door.

The Axeman looked up from his instrument, and paused for a moment as a wide smile grew across his face; "Hey, baby," he said sweetly, then his lips returned to his axe and he continued to play, keeping his eyes upon her gaze. He seemed so delighted; she couldn't help but flash him a grin. Every time she came over, his entire being lit up as though the very reason he played music had finally walked through his door.

She went to the kitchen and poured herself a whiskey then plopped down on his bed to listen to him play. Her body was utterly exhausted, but these visits with him were the only thing that made her feel alive anymore. His music was made for her, and she could pretend she saw herself the way he saw her—even if just for the night.

His song flowed softly; its notes penetrated the aching emptiness inside her, momentarily softening her hardness and sending goosebumps across her skin. She placed her drink on the nightstand and stood up; she couldn't explain it, but the music compelled her to move—she felt as though she were under a spell, commanded by the notes of his song. She looked him in the eyes as she began to sway slowly and sultrily to the smooth sounds that emanated from his saxophone. She tilted her head back and ran her fingers through her hair, leaving a scent of sandalwood, bourbon and tobacco in the air as she moved.

They were both hypnotized—Fiona in her free and sexy sway, and the Axeman fixated upon it. The energy between them was magnetic; had his saxophone not been playing, the sounds of their fast beating hearts could undoubtedly be heard in the stillness of his small apartment.

When his song finished, he stood and pulled her into him, absorbing her in a deep kiss. Her body fell limp and he cradled her in his arms. Being with him was the only time she ever allowed herself to be helpless, and to give herself over to another.

His song echoed in her head as he began to kiss her neck, slowly moving his way up to her ear. He whispered, "you're so beautiful, baby" and he gently nibbled on her earlobe. She shivered, then giggled lightly because it tickled. Her whole being had begun to melt. He continued kissing her as his hands slid down her back and grabbed hold of her ass, squeezing it with a firm but gentle fervor. She embraced him tighter, and slowly started moving, inciting another dance to the remnant melodies that lingered in the air around them.

She sighed quietly and told him, "I can still hear your music when you're no longer playing."

Upon hearing this, he stared into her eyes then kissed her on the mouth, deeply and passionately—their tongues entangled in a dance that moved along with the notes of the silent song.

Although she felt relaxed here in his arms, in this tiny apartment, she couldn't help but long for something more enticing, more _dangerous_. She gently broke away from the kiss. He was taken aback, but she smiled reassuringly and leaned in close to him; she whispered, "Let's get out of here." Her smile turned seductively devious as her hand glided down his arm, their fingers intertwining when it met with his. She began walking backward in the direction of the door, and professed, "I don't wanna be cooped up here all night…"

He resisted at first, pulling her back to him for another kiss but she stopped him just before their lips were barely touching. She closed her eyes and breathed him in as though he were the drag on her very last cigarette. There was not even a hint of confusion in his longing. She could sense how desperately he wanted her; it was burning in his eyes and beating in his chest. She was the jazz song playing to the rhythm of his existence.

But she'd just gotten a second wind, and she was stirred to something more—she couldn't quite articulate it, but she needed to break free, out of this dingy little dive, and to be consumed by the night. The shadows beckoned her into the silent anonymity of their darkness; she longed to be with the Axeman while submersing herself in the whole black, mysterious world.

Despite his resistance, she persisted. She knew his overwhelming lust for her made him much easier to coerce—he would do anything she desired, and she didn't even need to use magic.

"Come on," she urged, "while the night is still young."

With that, a smile formed across his face and he willingly followed her out the door like a man who had finally submitted to love's spell.

As he trailed behind her down the narrow stairwell, he was careful to notice even the subtlest movements that her body made. He imprinted his memory with each sway and each curve of her hips as though they were the notes of a song he could never get out of his head. She could feel his eyes upon her, and she secretly relished in the way he could never resist her, even despite the morbid state of her reality.

They stepped outside onto the sidewalk just in time to catch the streetcar that was rattling down the dimly lit road. An idea struck her. She turned to him, grabbed both his hands and said, "Let's get on it, and see where it takes us." The words fell from her lips as though she was reciting an incantation, and she finished them off with a coy smile. He was surprised by her suggestion, but of course he obliged. Fiona normally would not be caught dead on a streetcar, but tonight was unlike most others—it was very late, very dark, and she had the Axeman by her side.

He climbed aboard first then extended his hand to help her up the step. They found an empty spot in the back corner of the car, which seemed to be heading away from a sweet sounding jazz tune that echoed in the distance. Fiona wasn't certain of whether the song was really playing in the Quarter, or if it was simply the Axeman's song that still resounded in her head.

They sat closely together on the wooden bench; the Axeman laid his arm over her shoulder, while Fiona rested her hand gently on his thigh. Despite the late hour, there were still four other people in the front end of the car. He leaned into her and whispered, "Where we goin', baby doll?"

She turned to face him, grasped his hand, and slowly brought it to her face with a smile that was every bit sinister as it was sensuous. She took his index finger to her lips, and rested it there for a moment as she purred, "Shhhh…"

She locked a seductive gaze upon him, then closed her eyes as she began to trace her lips with the tip of his finger; she gradually slid it into her mouth and gently closed her lips over it as she caressed it with her tongue. She could feel the quickening pulse of his heart between her wet lips. She did this with such an intense delicacy that it drove the Axeman wild with an intoxicating mixture of lust and astonishment. He was in complete awe.

She smiled at him again as she let his hand fall gently into her lap. She scanned the car to see if anyone had noticed them, but the other passengers were all solemn and quiet. The streetcar had just arrived at the next stop so she used her powers to force the remaining riders off the car, including the driver, and she locked the doors. Then she enchanted the streetcar to continue following the track on its own. She performed these tasks with such a yearning haste that she barely noticed the effort it took to accomplish them. As usual, the Axeman was transfixed upon her every move.

She dimmed the lights so they could barely distinguish each other's form in the darkness. Despite the streetcar magically gliding along its track, all that could be heard was their steadily increasing heartbeats, the rhythm of their breath, and the jazz melody that still resonated within the car.

The Axeman watched intently as she slowly hiked up her black dress, just enough to reach under it and slide off her panties. She grabbed his hand again, brought it to her inner thigh, and pushed it up her skirt. Then she pulled him into her and kissed him with a fervent passion. Waves of pleasure pulsed through her as he played between her legs. Fiona finally began to feel that the desperation and emptiness that continually plagued her had momentarily subsided in the presence of this diversion.

His lips moved slowly down her body until he was kneeling before her. She trembled as he glided his hands up each of her legs, lifted them over his shoulders, and pushed her skirt up even further. He inched closer. She could feel his warm breath between her legs. Her heart was pounding; her chest rose and fell quicker with each passing moment. He stared into her knowingly and smiled as he devoured her with his mouth. A sharp gasp escaped her lips and she arched her back, squeezed her thighs tight around his ears, and grasped his hair with both of her hands as she grinded herself against his face.

They kept each other's gaze while he drank her in, and she had never felt so utterly powerful in a time that she was not even using her magic. _This_ was the reason she was here with him in the dark. He possessed his own debilitating form of desperation, but it was for _her_—and his willingness to submit to her every whim was inexplicably arousing.

She moaned and thrashed against him wildly, and the jazz song flowed. It blended with the streetcar as it clattered into the night, its windows quickly steaming up with the sticky heat of their lust. Her eyes closed and she shivered as the ecstasy overcame her. She panted breathlessly, and immersed herself in this experience of bliss, and how it had the ability to briefly transport her out of the hell she had so carefully constructed for herself. All that plagued her was nonexistent in this very moment. She was free, detached, like the melodious flow of the jazz tune that accompanied them in the shadows.

Her body relaxed and she laughed approvingly. The Axeman's smile could have lit up the dark streetcar, which was still carelessly passing through every stop on its route, thanks to Fiona's spell. She smiled back at him and grabbed the shoulders of his jacket, pulling him towards her for a kiss. Then she stood up, turned him around and pushed him down into the seat. She leaned toward him and kissed him again while her hands began to unhook his belt. She stood over him, as though she were a regal queen observing her subject; she emanated a determined, irresistible kind of allure, and he was entranced as ever. She brought her hand to her lips, then slowly glided her tongue from the base of her palm to the tip of her fingers. She smiled seductively as she took hold of him, and he exhaled with deep, immense gratification.

She felt so vivacious, enlivened by the energy that buzzed between their bodies. Having this kind of control over him gave her even more of a thrill. She pulled the bottom of her skirt up to her waist and proceeded to straddle him. This was a bold move given the fragile state of her body as of late, but tonight she felt too daring to make any sacrifices. She gazed into him, and she saw her reflection in the flame that burned in the glint of his eyes. She brought her mouth to his, and the jazz song reverberated within her as they melded with one another's essence.

Everything seemed to stand still in those heated, lust-filled moments. The streetcar was nearing the end of the line, but all Fiona could discern was their breath, the beat of their hearts, and that same jazz song that echoed throughout the car. It seemed as though it had been narrating the course of their night since she first set foot upon the stairwell to his doorstep. She imagined herself to be his instrument; with each rise and fall of her body, the song grew louder. Every touch, every breath, every moan was a piece of a most mellifluous tune. The song's melody reached a hilt when they climaxed together, then finally fell silent as their bodies succumbed to the primal shadows that had taken life around them.

She collapsed over him and rested her head on his shoulder as they both attempted to steady their breath. The streetcar was now sitting at the final destination on its route, but neither of them had noticed that it stopped.

He smiled, stroked her cheek and kissed it lightly. She reached over to grab a cigarette from her purse and lit it with a satisfied smirk on her face. She took a long drag, passed it to him, then exhaled thick plumes of smoke that swirled and filled the dark car. She watched as they floated higher then faded softly into the blackness. They reminded her of the jazz melody that had danced its way through her all night.

She nuzzled her face against his neck, and he embraced her tighter so he could press his lips against her ear.

"Baby doll?," he whispered.

"Hmm?," Fiona murmured.

"You know that song I was playing tonight, when you arrived at my place?"

"Mmhmm."

"I wrote it for you."

"I know," she breathed.


End file.
